


A Risk, A Fall, and Making It Better

by Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Greg Lestrade, Alpha Sherlock Holmes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bonding, M/M, Multi, Omega John Watson, Omegaverse, Polyamory, Protective Greg Lestrade, Protective Sherlock Holmes, Threesome - M/M/M, kind of PWP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage/pseuds/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage
Summary: On a case in Devon, John has a scare which could of put him in danger. While he has been in danger before, it clearly unsettles Sherlock and calls are made. While waiting for the third member of their pack to arrive, Sherlock sets about making it better for his Omega.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	A Risk, A Fall, and Making It Better

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, while I've been stuck in quarantine I've had some time to think and while it's been a challenge I managed to write this! Before we get into the story, here's some details for you!
> 
> This story is Omegaverse, which features Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Not only this, but this fic features a polyamorous relationship between Sherlock, John and Greg. If that doesn't agree with you, feel free to click off of the fic! 
> 
> You might of guessed, this isn't the same canon as my other Omegaverse works! If you're interested in some Johnlock then feel free to check out my "A Startling Revelation" story where John discovers that Sherlock is an Omega: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551286/chapters/41359565 
> 
> Now then, on with the story!

The case had been dangerous, far too dangerous. International espionage, murder and a boat-chase, all leading up to one large scuffle. Two men were now in chains, ready to be carted off to wherever the hell international criminals went. But, John couldn’t have cared less what happened to them; they weren’t of his concern. Not any longer. 

They had ended up in Devon of all places, reminding John of the Baskerville case. Fortunately, there had been no hallucinogenic drugs involved this time; a fact he was grateful enough for. No, instead they had travelled along the coastline to a small sea-side town where regular ferries departed from the harbour. Sherlock had claimed the criminals were planning to escape under the guise of fishermen, headed for new waters where the British Government could no longer give chase. 

Fortunately, they had managed to hire out a boat and intercept just in time. If it had been a better time, John might have recalled something Mycroft had told him before.  _ He wanted to be a pirate, what might we make of that?  _ Unfortunately for John, he had gotten whisked up in the rush of the chase, going to leap from one deck to another after Sherlock when his shoes slipped. He missed the second deck completely, only having the time to extend a hand towards the detective as he plunged into the sea below. 

What happened after that, John could hardly recall. It had been a flurry of movement, a fight to preserve oxygen, the sound of an air horn as he broke the sea's surface choking and spluttering for air. Sherlock’s cry of his name barely carried on the wind as he was tossed a life-preserver and shouted at to swim, his body running on adrenaline as he made his way back to the boat. The coast-guard just arrived as he was pulled up into Sherlock’s arms, the doctor’s entire body trembling from adrenaline and the cold. 

“I’ve got you,” Sherlock murmured into his ear, one hand clasped at the back of his neck while he snaked his arm around John’s waist. “Easy, John. I’ve got you.” 

With relief taking place instead of adrenaline, his body crashing in exhaustion, John sunk into Sherlock’s arms without complaint. His own wrapped around the detective in a loose grasp, his eyes closing as he simply  _ breathed _ . 

It would be alright.

* * *

They made it back to the hotel towards the evening, John practically a drowned rat wrapped up in the Belstaff that Sherlock had insisted he put on. His hair stuck out at all ends and his grip was white-knuckled on the fastenings of the coat, pulling it tighter around himself to fend off the chill. Sherlock walked a step behind him, a hand resting gently at the small of his back. A comforting presence, a subtle message.  _ I’m here. I’ve got you.  _

The moment that the door to their room closed, John was tugged and pushed up against the door with a thud. Lips crashed against his own and fingers carded possessively through his hair, holding him still, giving him no choice but to accept the treatment for what it was. 

“Mine.” A claim, a claim to prove that they were both there. Both safe and sound. Sherlock’s deep baritone voice rumbled on the edge of a growl, his upper lip curling as his grasp on John’s hair tightened. Tugging on the blonde’s hair, he licked into his mouth, listening to the way his breath hitched. 

John’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, heat flushing through his cheeks. His hands fumbled, grasping at Sherlock’s shirt, tugging him closer, urging him on.  _ Touch me. Hold me. Remind me.  _

The drag of Sherlock’s lips from his own drew the breath from his lungs, the graze of teeth over the column of his throat sending shivers up his spine. Pain blossomed from the crook of his neck as sharp teeth dug into the flesh, neither caring whether it gave way beneath the pressure of it. It was grounding, it was proof of being  _ alive _ . 

“Sherlock,” he whimpered, feeling a tap on the inside of his left foot and obediently spreading his legs. His left hand was taken and placed above his head, the silent instruction loud and clear.  _ Stay there.  _ He raised his right to join it, the back of his wrists flat against the cold wood of the door. The position was open, vulnerable, but he trusted his lover. How could he not after all this time?

Satisfied, the detective’s hand slipped down his body; feeling every nook and cranny as though reinstating the claim he’d left months ago.  _ Mine. All mine.  _ By the time his hand pressed flat against John’s groin, the doctor was practically shaking with want. 

Slowly, too slowly, Sherlock’s hand rubbed over his cock. Rhythmic, mechanical movements that provided constant stimulation. There was no care for if it overstimulated, just the need to feel and be felt in turn. John’s toes curled in his boots and he let out a huff through his nose, rocking his hips forward into the touch only to have the contact removed completely. 

“I- what? Sherlock?”

“ _ Stay still _ ,” Sherlock commanded and John resisted the urge to straighten up at attention.  _ Too many years taking orders,  _ he mused briefly before his hand returned to grasp him through his trousers. 

Once again that slow yet intense stimulation returned. Pleasure skittered up his spine and he arched, making sure to keep his hips as still as he could. John’s eyes fluttered shut with the force of it, the way his every nerve felt too live-wired, his focus entirely on the way Sherlock touched him. His hands clenched above his head, fingers twitching with the urge to once again drag the lanky detective against him, to push their lips together and release the tension that had been palpable between them that day. 

Truth be told, John was surprised Sherlock was dragging this out. It wasn’t like his lover, not one bit. He never displayed any modicum of patience for anyone or anything, not unless it was personally of interest. It was as though he was waiting for something-. 

Not something, the Omega realised with widening eyes,  _ someone _ . 

“Sherlock, is he-?”

“He’s on his way,” he promised, dropping a softer, less aggressive kiss to his lips. “He has been since about two o’clock this afternoon.” He lowered his mouth to John’s throat again, suckling against the skin and tasting the salt there. Pointedly ignoring the way his lover shuddered under his touch, Sherlock’s hands slipped back to John’s hips and rubbed small circles into the dip of bone. “So, here’s what we’re going to do, Watson. You and I are going to get undressed and I am going to get you ready for us both; do you understand me?” 

With John’s nod, Sherlock stepped back to give them both enough room to move. John scrambled to strip himself of the Belstaff, throwing it over the back of one of the chairs and squirming out of his jumper and polo-shirt. Excitement coursed through him, anticipation enough to make his fingers tremble as he fumbled with his belt and managed to shove his jeans down without much fuss. Boots were kicked off, socks quick to follow, and as the Omega stood nude in the centre of the room his eyes sought out Sherlock’s in the dim light. With the crook of a finger, he stepped closer like a marionette on a string, powerless to disobey in that moment.

“Come lie with me, John. Let’s get you comfortable.” 

For the second time that day John fell into Sherlock’s arms, his own locking around the Alpha’s neck as their lips met in a kiss. He could feel his body unwind, the tension loosening and uncoiling with every push and pull of lips and the barest hints of teeth. It felt settling in a strange sort of way, every pass of Sherlock’s hands up and down his spine helping to ground him and keep him steady in the wake of what had been a rather odd day. A tiring day. 

“Let me soothe you, John,” the brunette murmured against his lips. “Let me take care of you.” Unable to muster the words, he gave a nod of permission and allowed himself to be rolled onto his back against the mattress. 

Hovering above his body, Sherlock looked gorgeous. His dark eyes sought out John’s in the dark, commanding the man’s attention and retaining it with ease. He looked so powerful, John’s clever detective, his lover, the man who would undoubtedly reduce him to whimpers. He had already done so while trailing kisses down his body, hands clasped at his hips once again to keep him still. It was difficult to be obedient, especially the closer Sherlock drifted towards his cock, but if there was anything John had learned it was to be patient. 

_ Patience is rewarded, John.  _ A voice not belonging to himself or Sherlock sounded in the back of his mind and he pulled at his lip.  _ Be patient for us and you won't regret it.  _

Lips wrapped around his cock and he let out a startled gasp, his eyes snapping open; when had they shut? John’s gaze dropped to Sherlock and his breath caught at the sight of him lying flat between his legs, elegant fingers holding them apart. He didn’t do more than give a small bob of his head at first, his eyes locked with John’s as he took his time. Pulling off for a second, he curled his tongue around the head and rubbed it with a low, rumbling growl.

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” John groaned, not daring to look away as Sherlock lapped at him. His cock twitched, throbbing so close to the wet heat of his mouth yet he didn’t dare shift his hips one iota. That was the fastest way to being denied and as pent up as he was, he didn’t think he’d survive. “S-Sher-.”

“Shh, let me soothe you,” he repeated, parting his lips and lowering his head once again. Inch by inch, John’s cock disappeared into Sherlock’s mouth, not stopping until it touched the back of his throat. The detective swallowed around him, a punched out grunt being his reward, and then fell perfectly still. 

For how long they stayed like that, John couldn’t have said. He was trapped in this, the heat of Sherlock’s mouth and the commanding way he was being stared at. Those eyes that bore into his very soul, all-seeing, able to tell him a million things all at once. Sherlock was unmoving, simply holding his cock in his mouth and occasionally moving just enough to keep him hard, letting John’s arousal simmer without actually tipping him towards release. 

It was only when a gentle hand came to brush through John’s hair that his eyes did flutter and his attention did stray from that low simmer in the pit of his core, startling him into awareness. He'd not even heard the door open. Lips descended onto his, pressing, coaxing him to open to the new arrival so that his mouth could be claimed entirely. The scent of Alpha flooded his senses and it pulled out a whimper from the back of his throat, his fingers moving from where they’d been clenching the bed-sheets to tangle into salt and pepper hair.

When they parted, a small string of saliva still connected them, but John’s gaze was trapped within the depths of the new arrival’s own. 

“You’re here,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat as Sherlock swallowed around him. "Greg."

“Of course I am. You couldn’t keep me away if  you tried.”


End file.
